


To Keep the Night From Ending

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Pool Sex, The X Factor Bungalow, The X Factor Era, baby boyfriends, gentle fingering, sort of first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: It doesn’t always feel real to kiss in the dark, Harry guesses. He wants it to feel real. He wants it to be the realest thing, burnt indelibly into his skin.Or, Harry and Louis take a night swim.





	To Keep the Night From Ending

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an anonymous tumblr prompt requesting pool sex and gentle fingering, which is ridiculously cute and very much my jam. I wrote a little drabble, and so many people left tags on it that I had enough material for an entire story! Thank you to everyone who reblogged and encouraged.
> 
> The title is stolen from the Erasure song Here I Go Impossible Again. It's one of my favorite songs an I already used it's title for another fic in another fandom, but it feels like it fits all of my parings and it's such a sweet, aching, lovely song. I recommend listening to it, and perhaps the whole record it comes from, while you read this. If there's a record in the world which encapsulates the sensation of night swims and moonlight and unrequited love, it's Nightbird. 
> 
> Anyway, here's some sweet baby boyfriend porn before we all die on Friday.
> 
> Love you all and always <3

Harry has already slipped off into the strange, liminal space between sleep and not quite when he feels fingers digging into his ribs, hot breath against his ear. 

_Louis,_ he thinks, before he even starts awake and realizes it really _is_ Louis, Louis whispering in his ear, Louis touching him through layers of sleeping bag. Harry’s first thought under most circumstances is _Louis_ , so it’s tremendously exciting that he’s actually _right_. 

He rolls over, bleary-eyed and confused and delighted and nervous. “What is it?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to make out the hazy shape of mussed hair in the darkness. 

“Shh,” Louis whispers, putting his hand over Harry’s mouth, salty and hot. Harry shivers, goes slack, wonders if this is another night where they’re going to sneak off together, away from the other boys sleeping in the living room and into Harry’s bedroom to snog and snog and not talk about snogging because it’s hard to discuss such things when your mouth is otherwise occupied and you’re terrified of losing the very best thing that has ever happened to you in the sixteen years you’ve been alive. “Can’t sleep,” Louis says, pressing his palm against Harry’s mouth, so he buckles and collapses back down onto his pillow under the insistent pressure. “M’buzzin’ out of me skin. Wanna do something.” 

Harry shakes Louis’s hand off, still half-asleep and confused and now, turned on. “Something…like what?” 

“Something crazy,” Louis murmurs, breath coming out in a damp huff over Harry’s face; he’s _that_ close, and Harry has to shut his eyes. Louis is so much, too much, and the worst part about it is that even _then_ , it’s not enough. Not enough that they’re snogging behind closed doors, that Harry gets to put his hands up inside Louis’s hoodies sometimes and feel the smooth golden burn of his skin. He wants _more_ , wants to do it by daylight, wants Zayn and Niall and Liam and the whole rest of the world to know that those marks on his neck are from _Louis_ , Louis’s mouth, his nails. He wants it to be _official_ or something, as young and pathetic and foolish as that sounds. He _at least_ wants to know whether or not Louis _truly likes him_ , even though it seems impossible for this older, confident, _brilliant_ boy to think of him as more than a mate who’s open-minded and desperate enough to fool around with when everyone else is sleeping. 

It doesn’t always feel real to kiss in the dark, Harry guesses. He wants it to feel real. He wants it to be the realest thing, burnt indelibly into his skin. 

“Crazy like what?” he asks slowly, heart pounding. 

Louis takes his hand and hauls him to his feet. “Crazy like…I don’t know. Crazy like swimming. Come swim with me.” 

Harry doesn’t necessarily want to get wet right now; he’d much rather roll around on his creaky twin bed and memorize the way Louis’s teeth feel under his tongue, but he has no idea how to say no to Louis, doesn't ever really _want_ to, so he follows him out of the living room, tiptoeing around the other boys, breath held. 

They try to push the sliding glass door open as quietly as possible, but it sticks a little, and Harry’s afraid to push it past the obstruction, so instead they squeeze out through a crack that’s hardly big enough for them, giggling into their palms. Harry feels giddy and insane, and as soon as they step out into the moonlight to pick their way across the gravel walkway to the pool, the feeling gets ten times bigger. The world seems boundless, quiet and wild-smelling in the night, a mixture of fog and manure and chlorine and freshly cut grass. As Harry’s lungs expand on an inhale, he feels like they could just keep _going_ , filling him to the brim, ripping him asunder, opening him up to the stars. 

And that…that’s what it’s like to be in love for the first time. Trying to house the whole of the night in your chest. It’s impossible, and as Harry watches Louis teeter and trip his way barefoot over gravel, graceless and soft-wristed as he corrects his balance, he thinks, _you’re impossible...can’t be real, can you, but here you are._

He wants it to feel real. He wants it to be the realest thing, burnt indelibly into his skin. 

When he makes it across the gravel, Louis’s there to catch him before he pitches into the pavement. “Careful,” Louis laughs, covering his mouth with one delicate hand, the other wrapped around Harry’s wrist, keeping him steady. Everything feels electric, and as Louis shakes his fringe out of his twinkling eyes, Harry wants so badly to kiss him. Just take his face between his palms and kiss him there, with the moon watching, bearing witness. 

But he doesn’t. He has to wait for Louis to start things; it’s not as scary that way, feels more like something he’s being allowed, rather than something he's asking for. It’s always easier to be told what to do than it is to ask for things. “S’gonna be freezing,” he grumbles, shucking off his joggers and tee-shirt, very aware that Louis is doing the same behind him. 

Harry skinny-dips all the time--it’s his pool, after all--and he doesn’t think much about being naked, but every time they’ve been in the water together as a band this week, Louis has worn trunks. Since there’s no one else to see, though, no one but Harry and the moon, he strips down completely, kicking his clothes into the little pile on the cement, and Harry’s cheeks are so fucking hot and clammy he almost feels sick. There are things he wants, so many things, too many to count, but they all exist in a universe where Louis is his to look at, to touch. 

He doesn't look at or touch Louis yet. Instead, he wrings his hands, pads over to the edge of the pool, and looks in, eyes trained on the glistening flicker of the water, chewing the inside of his cheek until it’s raw. If he were out here naked with literally any of his other friends, he’d be teasing them, pushing them, being cheeky about _something_. But he doesn’t know how to act right now, how to exist with Louis in this between-space. “C’mon,” Louis mumbles, heading toward the steps. “Guess I can’t cannonball in, yeah? Too noisy.” 

“Guess not,” Harry makes himself say, teeth chattering as he toes the water, skin immediately drawing tight and pebbled with gooseflesh. 

Louis crashes in beside him, using the steps but still entirely too loud for the middle of the night, and Harry giggles nervously in response, following like he always follows, dog-like and devoted and with blinders on. Louis is the sexiest boy he’s ever seen, probably the sexiest boy there _is_ , and here he is, waist-deep and naked in Harry’s pool, shivering in the moonlight. 

“C’mon, Hazza,” he hisses, teeth grit. “S’not that bad.” 

Harry wades in, shaking as he dips under the water and pushes himself through a few agonizing strokes so the cold will be less biting. It’s _not_ any less biting, though, so he pushes up, gasping, breath stuck in his throat. “Oh, my god,” he whispers through chattering teeth. “S’terrible.” 

“No, it’s not, you’re terrible,” Louis jokes, splashing him. He tries to splash back, but he’s too shocked by the cold, moving slowly, sluggish and stiff in the water, making it easy for Louis to grab his wrist as he extends it. Clever fingers wrap around him, dig into a frenetic pulse, and pull him close. “Body heat,” Louis laughs, and Harry is sort of panicking, so even though he doesn't _want to_ , he reflexively pulls away. It’s self-protective. There are things he wants, things he’s afraid to ask for, and Louis is silver under the stars; there are water droplets coursing from his hair down the lines of his throat, and they should be under Harry’s tongue. 

Louis grins, teeth nothing but a white wicked flash in the night, and everything there is in Harry aches, and aches. 

“M’not terrible,” Harry answers, too late. “M’ _cold_ , there’s a difference. Plus, body heat doesn’t work when you’re both freezing.” 

Louis pushes off the side of the pool with his toes and clumsily backstrokes past Harry, water licking around them. “Speak for yourself, Harold,” he says lightly. “You’re the only one who thinks it’s cold.” 

He’s lying; Harry can tell because his eyes are trained on Louis’s skin, and even in the darkness, he can see that he’s got goosebumps, that he’s shivering, too. He splashes Louis right in the face, laughter so high and wheezy it’s more like a breathless cough. “You’re so full of shit,” he tells him, and Louis gasps, pretending to be affronted as he splashes back, sputtering. 

“Cheeky,” he replies, launching himself at Harry, whose only defense is to dunk under and scramble away. Harry shuts his eyes tightly beneath the surface, face scrunched and mouth open, exhaling a torrent of bubbles into the black of the pool as he swims aimlessly. 

When he surfaces, his hair is a slick across his face, and he can’t see anything, so he gasps when Louis touches him. Cold hands on cold shoulders, everything slick and sudden, Louis close enough to him that their legs twine together loosely under the water. 

Harry can’t breathe, everything caught in his throat as he flicks his hair out of his eyes, still a mass of frantic, nervous laughter. “Why…why are you being so weird?” Louis muses, voice soft, the catchlights in his eyes the first thing Harry sees as he blinks away pool water. Too bright and brilliant and blue for this night swim, and Harry wonders where he’s getting that light, how he’s reflecting.

_Impossible_ , he thinks, recovering his voice enough to say, “M’not being weird.” He sounds sheepish and defensive, though, which _is_ weird, so he guesses he's lying. 

Louis’s grin is sharp and manic and delectable as he pushes Harry up against the side of the pool, cement against his back. Harry isn’t cold anymore, not at all, not now. “You are,” he insists, voice soft. “You keep swimming away. What’s…is something wrong?” Louis’s grip loosens on Harry’s shoulder, but he doesn’t let go. 

Harry doesn't know what to say. _Nothing’s wrong...you’re perfect, I’m in love with you, and when you touch me it feels like the whole world is burning up, like there's nothing else in the whole universe except your nails in my skin. Nothing at all is wrong_. That’s a lie, too, though, because _he’s_ wrong, he’s all wrong, for wanting too much and being too soppy and not knowing how to fucking _talk_ when Louis is this close, so close he can see the little scar on his eyebrow, the crinkles from his smile. “You’re so _quiet_ tonight...I don't know what you’re thinking, what you want,” Louis breathes, gaze careful and even, studying Harry’s face. 

_You, you, you, really and for real,_ Harry thinks. He swallows, though, gaze sweeping over the sharp line of Louis’s cheekbones, and says, “M’too cold to talk.” 

“Okay, then,” Louis sighs, deflating, floating away, and _no_ , no. Harry wants him here, reaches out and grabs for him and pulls him back in without even thinking. 

The current brings Louis back, even closer this time, knees nudging privately together, small waves lapping between them, Louis’s breath huffing out in a surprised _oh_ over Harry’s lips. “Hi,” Harry says weakly, feeling so, so, mortifyingly _young_. 

“Hi, Hazza,” Louis murmurs, gaze flicking down to Harry’s lips. Then, he leans forward, pressing the whole of his slick, naked body against Harry’s, trapping their soft cocks together, the wettest softest most intimate thing. Harry gasps, going limp against the wall, and then, Louis’s kissing him. Their noses nudge together, cold and sweet, and Louis’s lips taste like sleep and chlorine before he opens his mouth and lets Harry lick inside. They’re kissing _finally_ , and all Harry can do to keep from drowning is throw his arms around Louis’s neck, hold him close, suck him down. 

Everything is slick, wet, messy. Louis groans into it, holds Harry’s cheeks steady between his palms, and sucks on his tongue, raking his fingers up into the sticky wet mess of his hair. When they pull apart, it’s only to breathe, and even then, Harry can hardly inhale; he’s dizzy, he’s seeing stars, and all he can think is _Louis, Louis, Louis._

“Fuck,” Louis groans, mouthing down Harry’s neck, such a hot slick amid so much cold water. The scrape of his voice makes Harry’s stomach plummet, sends a lurching thrill through his whole body, and he never thought he could get hard in a fucking pool in the middle of the night, but his cock is twitching against Louis thigh, thickening up. “God, I thought…for a second, I thought you didn’t want to anymore.” 

Harry wrenches away, gasping, stunned because this is the most they’ve spoken when they’re doing this, and _Louis_ is the one with something to say. “You…what?” he asks, shivering as Louis sucks a deliberate mark into his throat. His hands rove aimlessly all over Louis’s toned shoulders, his biceps, squeezing greedy fistfuls of him everywhere he can reach. “Never, I _always_ want to, _always_ ,” he confesses, pulse pounding. Louis rubs an open palm over that thundering heart, thumbing over Harry’s nipple, which is drawn tight in the cold. 

“That’s…that’s a relief,” Louis sighs, kissing up his neck to his lips again, which he licks before he kisses, kisses before he bites. Harry shivers, an involuntary sound escaping his throat before Louis smoothes it into nothingness with a sweep of his tongue. “I always want to, too,” he whispers, and Harry is coming apart. 

_Impossible._ It seems impossible that a boy like Louis could _always_ want to kiss Harry, kiss him with the same desperate, heart-stopping fury and hunger that Harry feels right now, filling his chest like a sky full of stars. But at the same time, maybe not. Because Louis’s touching him with the same messy-wild want, hands everywhere, splashing in the pool around them as he slides splayed palms down Harry’s ribs, up his back, mauling him. Because Louis’s kissing him without stopping, kissing him like he’s air, and even when he pulls away to suck in a messy inhalation, his lashes are fluttering like he’s drunk, like he can’t get enough. 

Harry whimpers, pulling him closer, wanting so _badly_ for this to mean the same thing to Louis as it does to him. 

“You feel so good, s’unbelievable...it’s _insane_ ,” Louis murmurs at some point, so softly that Harry almost misses the words as they get slurred against his mouth. 

Harry reels back because he _wants_ to hear it, wants to _know_. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Fuck, _yeah,_ ” Louis growls, rubbing his palms down the small of Harry’s back to grip his arse in two firm fists, biting his own lip as he does it. “So good.” 

“God,” Harry keens, rubbing his fully hard cock against Louis’s thigh, dizzy with the filthy-slick feeling of their bodies together, so _hot_ , so wet. Louis has never touched his arse quite like this, with such _certainty_ and intent, and all the implications behind such a thing are making him shudder. He wonders if it didn't feel real for Louis when hey kissed in the dark either, if this feels different for him, too. “Louis,” he whines, without even meaning to. 

“Love when you say my name, Jesus,” Louis hisses, squeezing Harry again, making him yelp. Harry is humping his thigh in earnest now, making the water shift rhythmically around them, splashing against the side of the pool in a way that if any of the other lads were to so much as _listen_ closely, they’d know what was going on, what they were up to. 

“Louis,” Harry whimpers, quieter this time. “What if we wake someone up, like, what if someone comes out and sees?” 

“Let them, I don't care, I just want you,” Louis answers, biting Harry’s neck, bucking up against him so Harry can feel how hot and hard he is, too, and _fuck_ , Jesus fucking Christ, this is so _much_. Louis wanting him, _admitting to wanting him_ , saying so with unmistakable clarity, and not even _caring_ if anyone knows, if anyone sees. Harry sort of sobs, turning his face to inhale greedily from Louis’s neck, so moved and overwhelmed and in love that he’s not even sure he’ll survive this. “Is this okay, like this, for me to touch you here?” Louis asks, cupping Harry’s bum with soft fingers before digging his thumbs into the meat of it, deep and dirty.

“Fuck, yes, love it,” Harry moans, letting his head loll onto Louis’s shoulder. “Please, touch me there, wherever you want to.” 

Louis’s curses, fingers inching more deeply into Harry’s crack, pulling him apart a little to get closer to his hole. “Here? Like, can I…fuck, Harry, wanna touch you here, can I?” he asks, the pad of his index finger brushing ever so gently over Harry’s rim. _Fuck_ , it’s such a filthy, shivering feeling, and Harry clenches up, gasping. 

“Oh, my god,” Harry whines, hands flexing weakly on Louis’s shoulders, mouth open in a slick of his own drool as he tries to breathe. “God, yes, yes, yes.” 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Louis whispers, voice high and shaky with what sounds like _gratitude_ , gratitude and overwhelm, and tears spring to Harry’s eyes he’s so fucking happy. _Impossible_ that a boy like Louis could think a boy like Harry was _perfect_ , that he could want to touch him somewhere dark and private and dirty like his arsehole, where no one has ever touched him before. He can feel the ring of muscle fluttering reflexively, and he holds his breath as Louis gets closer, wrapping one arm tightly around Harry’s waist and hitching him up, so the buoyancy of the water carries some of his weight. 

Then, with his other hand, he feels around, holding Harry’s cheeks apart so he can _feel_ , tenderly and tentatively and so, so gently. “Oh, my fucking god,” Harry murmurs, acutely aware of himself twitching under Louis’s fingers. “That’s…,” he swallows, not sure what it is, exactly, save for overwhelming. 

“Is it okay?” Louis whispers, breath tickling against Harry’s ear as he experimentally rubs his hole, circling the rim, nudging just the tip of his finger into his hot center. “Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Harry, you feel amazing. I can’t…god. I think about this all the time, you know.” 

Harry did not know. His stomach coils filthily around the thought, heart speeding up to imagine Louis actually fantasizing about this, about getting his hands down the back of Harry’s pants and into his crack, feeling him here. “You do?” he asks, voice so low and shot it’s almost unrecognizable. 

“Yes, _god,_ yes,” Louis breathes, fingers warm as they rub more insistently over Harry’s hole, _feeling_ rather than just touching. “I think about doing everything with you.” 

_Everything_. Harry shivers, making a sound against Louis’s neck, ripped and crushed and wordless. “You can do everything with me,” he tells him, digging his pool-dimpled fingers into Louis’s shoulders, opening his mouth to lick whatever he can reach. “Please, please, do whatever you want. I want it, too, think about it, too,” he confesses. 

“Fuck,” Louis groans, kissing his cheek, his eyelid, the corner of his mouth. “I…god. I will. Just…right now, I wanna do this. Feel you here, feel inside of you,” he says breathlessly, cock twitching against Harry’s stomach where they’re pressed flush. “Want it so, so, so fucking badly, Hazza.” 

Harry grinds back against him, loving the pressure, the way it feels so fucking sexy and dirty and _hot_ to be touched somewhere so private, the way Louis is just _massaging_ the muscle without even trying to push in, just touching aimlessly, hungrily, because he wants to. He’s being so gentle and careful, like Harry is precious. It’s so _much_ , seems so _impossible_ , and all Harry can do is hold on and pray this isn't some dream he’s going to wake up from. “You can…you can, if you want. Fuck me, I mean, inside,” Harry babbles, blushing hot against Louis’s skin as he reaches behind himself to take Louis’s hand, to guide his index finger. 

“I don’t think pool water is, like, the best lube,” Louis jokes, voice shaky, getting caught in his throat as his fingertip breaches Harry’s rim. Harry gasps; it burns a little and feels weird and tight, but he _loves_ it, doesn’t even care what it feels like because the mere _thought_ of Louis fingering him open like this is enough to have his cock blurting precum into the pool in regular spurts. “Fuck, Harry, _fuck_ ,” Louis hisses, clawing up Harry’s side with his free hand, digging his nails into the meat of his arse and holding him open. “You’re so fucking hot, like, _burning_ inside, s’amazing,” he marvels, pushing a little deeper, working Harry so he softens up. “I love it.” 

_I love it_ is so close to _I love you_ that Harry’s heart stops, stomach plummeting as he keens and fucks back onto Louis’s finger, slutty and desperate. “Please, please fuck me,” he begs, feeling so dirty, so used and split apart and so close to coming that it’s _insane,_ Louis isn't even _doing_ much, just gently, gently, gently pumping in and out, just the first joint or so, hardly anything. 

“Jesus, Harry,” he breathes, tilting him back and kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth as far as he can go. “You have no idea how badly I want to,” he whispers as he pulls away. “Just…just lemme feel you, wanna feel you like this.” 

“Okay,” Harry whimpers, backing up again before rocking forward, feeling like Louis is _everywhere_ , hot and slippery in front of him as he grinds into his stomach, tight and burning and splitting him apart as he pushes back into his hand. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt, but he knows he’s not gonna be able to actually come without getting his hand on his cock, so he’s content to ride the nervy good-hurt of it right now, shivering as Louis so sweetly plays with his hole, feeling around inside him, gasping every time Harry tightens up or grips him. 

Harry loses time a little, blissed out and shivery and half-floating, body nothing but nerves and heat and _Louis_ , Louis. At some point, Louis makes a broken sound, tongue flicking out hotly over Harry’s pulse. “I have my whole finger in you,” he tells him, crooking it against Harry’s inner walls, making him squirm and cry out. “That okay? Does it hurt?” 

It does, but in the best sort of way, so Harry just shakes his head and murmurs a low, fucked-out, “S’good,” as he flexes and tightens around Louis’s finger. He feels so _full_ , more full than he’s ever felt, which can’t be right because he’s fucked himself in the shower with more, has gotten two fingers up to the second joint inside with little difficulty. He's not sure if this feels so different and raw and huge because he’s always had a bad angle, or if it’s because it’s _Louis_ , and he loves Louis. He sobs weakly, pushing back against the pressure, loving the stretch, the ache. “If I touch myself, I can come,” he confesses, and he _feels_ Louis’s breath catch in his chest. 

“Yeah? Can I touch you instead?” Louis asks, letting go of Harry’s waist to cup his cock, making a high, cut-off sound deep in his throat as he does it, wrapping his hand around the length experimentally in the water between them, warm from their bodies and friction. 

“Oh, god, please,” Harry groans, twitching in the heat of Louis’s palm. He rolls his hips, fucking Louis’s fist, stunned by the way Louis is looking down between them, pretty mouth hanging open in visible awe as he jerks Harry off. He loses rhythm with his other hand, but it doesn’t matter, just the sensation of having Louis’s finger inside him, even if he’s not pumping it, is hot and dirty enough to keep Harry close, to keep him feeling _full_. “You’re watching,” Harry observes, moved by the fact that Louis seems moved to touch him, to see what his hand looks like working over the shaft of Harry’s cock. 

“You look so good,” Louis whispers, thumbing over the slit where precum is smearing out, wetter than the surrounding water, slick and filthy. “So big, the best thing I’ve ever seen,” He quickens his pace, touching Harry like he might touch himself, fast and rough enough that the water splashes around them as his arm moves. 

“S’this how you wank?” Harry asks, wanting to _know_ , to imagine what Louis looks like when he makes himself come, the speed, the pressure, the faces he might make as he gets close. “Is this how you touch your own prick?” 

“Fuck,” Louis gasps, biting Harry’s shoulder and crooking the finger inside him without even meaning to, just an involuntary flex of his hand. “Yeah, but it never feels as good...mine doesn’t feel as good as yours does, so fucking perfect, Harry,” he whispers, and suddenly, Harry is tumbling over a precipice, screwing his eyes shut tightly against an explosion of stars as he comes. 

It spurts out into the water, the searing heat of it floating up to his stomach; the sensation of his hole still fluttering madly around the length of Louis’s finger makes his gut continue to plummet, long after he’s finished actually shooting his load. Then, he collapses against Louis, gasping, legs all warm and shivery and boneless. “Oh, my god,” he whimpers, painfully aware that Louis is still inside him, nudging up against his walls experimentally, getting still every time he clenches again, like his body is trying to hold him in. “Oh, my fucking god.” 

They stay locked up like that, Harry draped over Louis’s neck and Louis’s finger still trapped in the heat of him, for as long as it takes Louis to fumble between their bodies and bring himself off with a few shuddering strokes. He groans quietly as he comes, his load mingling with Harry’s, drifting in the water between them, a fucking mess, and Harry _loves_ it, loves knowing they’re mixing together, dissolving into each other. 

Louis hums, sounding dazed and pleased with himself as he carefully, carefully slides out of the gripping heat. Harry keens; there’s a drag and a burn, and he doesn’t want to be empty, but it doesn’t even matter because Louis is still holding him close, petting his back, kissing his temple. He tilts back to look at him blearily, and Louis smiles a giddy smile, tucking a single wet, tangly curl behind Harry’s ear, fingers trembling. It’s such a tender thing, really, so Harry shouldn’t be shocked into silence when Louis murmurs, “I love you.” 

He is, though, because that’s….that’s _impossible_. He just blinks, mouth falling open, watching Louis's eyes grow wide and panicked as he realizes what he’s just said. “Shit! Fuck, Haz, m’sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” Harry asks, heart thudding so hard his pulse is racing, his stomach is twisting into knots. 

“I—of course, I meant it,” Louis admits softly, rubbing his face with his palms. “I just didn’t mean to _say_ …to put any pressure on you or anything, or to make this weird,” he finishes, and Harry tries to swallow, to process, to believe. That something like this could happen, that _Louis_ , Louis _Tomlinson_ , who is sunlight and the bluest of blues and everything soft and sharp all at once in this world, _means_ it. What he just said. 

Harry giggles, suddenly a mess of nervous elated heart palpitations, of hope and disbelief and hope again. He reaches out, grabs Louis by his wrist, and pulls him in. “How could you not know...fuck. Louis…,” he babbles, breath catching at the way Louis’s eyes sweep over him, wet and vulnerable and young, somehow. Like they’re both boys, like this is new for both of them. And Harry supposes it is. “I love you, too,” he confesses quietly, blinking at how strange it feels to lay the truth out like this, so easily, in chlorine and moonlight. “I do.”

“You do,” Louis says carefully, on an exhale, while he thoughtfully chews his index nail. Harry wonders if it was the one that was just in his arse and shivers. “You do?” Louis repeats, a question this time, even though he’s softening up, drifting closer, body slick and hot and dizzying. 

Harry nods. “So much that I’ve been afraid to tell you. To, like, scare you away.” _It’s enough to scare you away_ , he thinks. _It’s flood-sized, avalanche-sized. The whole of the sky and every single star in it._

Louis shakes his head before throwing his arms around Harry’s neck, drawing him closer before pushing him up against the wall of the pool again, scraping his back against the cement as they drift together, twined. “You…I dunno if there’s anything at all you could do to scare me away,” he admits in a shaky voice, soft where it’s tucked in against Harry’s neck. He feels all over Harry’s body like he’s checking to see if he's real, down his ribcage, up his back, into his hair, where he makes two fists. 

Harry can’t hide the smile that splits his face; it’s too big and too wild, and the world is too small to contain such a thing, so he doesn’t even try. He just smiles and smiles into the night, knowing the moon could see them, _anyone_ could, but it doesn’t matter because Louis _loves_ him. 

_Impossible,_ he thinks, before shutting his eyes tightly and burying his face in Louis’s shoulder. Not _impossible_. Just very, very lucky.


End file.
